


A Night at the Opera

by eanor



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock BBC
Genre: First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eanor/pseuds/eanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene meets him at the opera of all places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night at the Opera

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://sherlockbbc.livejournal.com/profile)[**sherlockbbc**](http://sherlockbbc.livejournal.com/) comm fest (title slightly changed, though). Many thanks to [](http://goldvermilion87.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://goldvermilion87.livejournal.com/)**goldvermilion87** for emergency betaing. :-)  
>  Comments and criticism are always very welcome! Enjoy! :)

They meet at the opera of all places.

Irene likes the opera. It’s a place of music and art, of beautifully dressed women and heroic men, a place where she can relax and be herself for at least a short time in the anonymous dark of the theatre. And of course, during the interval, there are perfect opportunities to meet potential new clients. She’s heard that a famous writer is to be among the guests tonight. Irene doesn’t love books as much as music but she does love artists. Always so expressive. Inspiring, even. And with a good taste, usually. Irene hides a smile. Of course all her clients have a good taste - they chose her.

At the interval, Irene gets herself a glass of wine. They don’t have very good wine here, but being seen without a glass of wine won’t do. It’s good for her posture and she has a reputation to maintain. While she observes the people around her discretely, Irene mentally reviews the performance so far. The tenor is a little too old to fill his roll, but the soprano has been very good. Later she’ll tell Kate all the details and make her regret her decision to have dinner with her boring girlfriend form school instead of coming with Irene. Just as she imagines Kate’s (unconvincing) protests to the contrary, Irene is run over by a small man. Well, maybe ‘run over’ is too dramatic, but he does bump into her and almost makes her spill her wine.

She regains her posture almost immediately and eyes the man, her perfectly painted eyes narrowed in mock annoyance. He’s even smaller than she is and his dark hair is slicked back in such a way that she knows he hasn’t been to a hairdresser. His suit is clearly very expensive, but neither very well fitting nor very fashionable. Or chosen by someone with a poor taste in fashion. A bowtie? Really? This is not some award ceremony... Irene doesn’t judge her clients by their appearance (appearances can be so deceptive sometimes), but she doesn’t have time for someone with a bad taste. So when he starts apologizing in a ridiculously high voice, she simply turns away. That’s when the little man grabs her arm.

“You’re Irene Adler, aren’t you? Wow, what an honour! I’ve read so much about you. I mean, you’re all over the internet nowadays! I’m Robert, Robert Shore.”

He sticks a hand at her, without releasing her arm. Irene tugs her arm free as elegantly as possible and Robert gives her an embarrassed smile. Blushes a bit, too. This might be interesting after all. Irene likes virgins almost as much as artists. They appeal to the huntress within her. Besides, she hasn’t spotted the famous writer yet and without company the interval is going to be far too long and boring. Why not let this little man think he has her attention and get some information out of him? His suit _is_ expensive, after all, even if it isn’t good-looking. Together with his uneasiness, Irene is starting to suspect a young IT professional, nouveau riche. She knows the type. They’re almost too easy to handle.

She takes his hand. “Hello, Robert. I’m so pleased to meet you,” she coos, then adds with a conspiratory wink: “What _have_ you read about me?”

“Oh, erm, loads of stuff. All good, of course. You’re very good – or so, so they say,” he stammers and blushes more deeply, before clearing his throat and changing the topics. “The wine is great, right?”

It isn’t. It’s horrible, in fact. But Irene takes another sip and agrees: “Oh, it’s wonderful.”

She hasn’t even had to move closer to make him stammer. Maybe this _is_ too easy. Irene already feels her interest fade. Apparently small talk it is. How dull. But then –what _did_ she expect from a computer nerd? Irene almost wishes she had stayed home tonight. The writer obviously hasn’t shown up. Maybe he changed his mind at the last minute. Maybe her sources were wrong. She is going to have a word with them. Or more than a word... If it weren’t for the gorgeous soprano, the evening would have been a loss. She turns her attention to Robert again. No need to be rude. He can’t help being boring. “What do you think of the play tonight?”

“Oh, it’s awesome! I love Puccini!” He mispronounces the name (Poo-kee-nee). Not that well-educated then, at least not in art. Computer money looks more and more likely. Irene loves to be able to read people with just a glance. Although that mispronunciation is almost as unpleasant as the wine, Irene is professional enough not to correct him. Instead she smiles and rolls the shaft of her half-empty glass between her fingers. No, half-full, she corrects herself deliberately and her smile grows a tack more real.

“So what do you do, Robert?”

“Computer stuff. Nothing a lady like you would understand.” He smiles and waves his hand derogatorily. “Anyway, I make a lot of money with it. Enough money to be able to afford you, I guess.” He cocks his head. “Will you come with me tonight?”

Irene can barely hold back glaring at him. How does he dare – ... Just then his mobile chirps. Irene thinks she recognises the first notes from _Quando me'n vo'_ , but she isn’t sure. Robert mouths ‘Sorry’ at her, then walks away a few meters, far enough that she won’t overhear him if he speaks softly. But he talks just loudly enough that she _can_ overhear him. Irene’s confusion only lasts a second. As someone who needs other people’s secrets for survival, she doesn’t miss a word.

“Yes, she’s here ...

No, she doesn’t suspect anything ...

Listen, whoever chose that suit – make sure he’ll never be able to wear a suit himself anymore. I know I’m supposed to look dopey, but _this_? This is an insult! ...

Well, I have to go. I think she’s starting to suspect ...

I’ll have her any second now ...

Bye!”

Irene’s mind is racing. She’d know who this is even if she was stupid, careless and ignorant - and Irene is none of these things. The question is: What does he want from her? A moment ago, she was so proud to be able to read him. Now it’s clear she’s seen only what he wanted her to see. Or has she? In the few seconds it takes for him to come back to her, she sees him transform. He looks sharper now. Dangerous. Irene shivers with excitement. The night has suddenly turned into something very interesting. When he reaches her, he puts on the fake smile of Robert Shore, but speaks in his own voice.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

“I have. I’m not sure what you can actually offer me, though. You're not known for being a good employer, and I've _never_ been a good employee. I like being independent.”

“Oh, I can pay you. Loads of money. Or other things, if you’d prefer.” He actually has the nerve to laugh her right in the face. It’s become a challenge. And while Irene might like virgins or artists or opera, she _loves_ challenges. And lately so few people have been able to challenge her. She has a feeling this man will be a worthy opponent. She looks him square in the eye. “I don’t doubt that you can. But I don’t think you will.”

That makes him chuckle. Before he can answer, the bell sounds. Interval is over. Robert flashes his brilliant white teeth at her. “It was such a pleasure meeting you, Miss Adler. Too bad you’ll want to go back in to see the rest of your boring Puccini.” He doesn’t bother to mispronounce the name this time. His whole appearance has become sharper. “Remember if you’ll ever get bored again, just give me a call. I’ll be waiting.”

With that he flicks a business card at her. It’s plain white with nothing but a single phone number on it. When Irene looks back up, he has disappeared into the crowd that floods back into the opera hall. Irene doubts he is going to see the end of the play. He has obviously been here for her. While she patiently waits for the people to rush through the doors so she can take her seat in peace, she tries to decide whether she feels annoyed or flattered by the interest of the most dangerous man in London. Hard to imagine her meeting had only lasted a couple of minutes and they have only exchanged some meaningless small talk. In the end, it doesn’t really matter what he wants from her. Things are going to get interesting. When the curtains open for the last act, she allows herself a smile in the darkness.  



End file.
